


Words I Couldn't Say

by hannrose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Death, F/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sad, carnival scene, mysterio IS a bad guy, post-IW, spider-man: far from home (2019) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 00:25:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17570771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannrose/pseuds/hannrose
Summary: After dying on Titan and coming back, Peter Parker wrote a letter for four of the people he loved, in case he ever died again. But, for the fifth person, for MJ, Peter writes more than one. He writes one every day, talking about how he wished he could tell her how he felt. And now, it's too late.





	Words I Couldn't Say

_ MJ, _

_ I’m probably dead if you’re reading this. And it’s okay. Really, it’s fine, I died once before. But I won’t be coming back from this, I guess. I’m sorry you have to go through this, MJ. And I’m sorry I never told you anything. _

_ If I died the way I think I will, you already know that I’m Spider-Man. But if it was just a freak accident-- well, I’m Spider-Man. But that’s not what I really want to tell you. MJ, I think I was in love with you. I wish I could’ve told you that. _

_ I guess I never did because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. You and Ned are my best friends, and I just couldn’t face losing you. Also, you are way too intimidating. You’re gorgeous and tall and breathtakingly courageous and without the mask my confidence is nonexistent. And you won’t believe all the times I almost told you. You would be so frustrated if you knew. _

_ Anyways, MJ, I hope you can forgive me for being so cowardly. I hope you realize how special you were to me. _

_ Love, Peter Parker. Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. _

 

He had only intended to write one letter to each person. One to May, Ned, Happy, MJ, and even Tony. Even though he’d never get to read it. Because when Peter was resurrected, he was always paranoid that he’d die. And he wasn’t scared of dying, not anymore, at least, Peter was just scared to leave behind the people he loved.

 

And MJ-- Well, MJ he loved in a different way than the rest. Peter didn’t know how to express his feelings towards her, so, things spiraled. His one singular letter to her had turned into two, then into three, until it got to the point where he was writing a diary based around his experiences with her. Peter wrote a whole entry about the time their hands grazed, and how he felt lucky to be alive because of it.

 

In every letter, he promised to work up the courage to ask her out. In letter thirty, he said the words, ‘ _ Tomorrow, I promise. Tomorrow I’m going to ask you on a date _ .’ Those words showed up in every single entry afterwards. Thinking about asking MJ on a date was terrifying to him. Peter just couldn’t do it.

 

And, now, it was too late.

 

Now, MJ was dead.

 

Peter was holding onto her lifeless body like somehow it would bring her back. They were in the middle of Prague Square, and the tears just wouldn’t stop coming. He was going to suffocate in his mask. He couldn’t breathe, he could hardly keep his eyes open, and MJ  _ wasn’t moving _ . With what little air Peter had in his lungs, he begged her to wake up. “Please,” he had sobbed. “Please wake up. I can’t-- I can’t--”

 

MJ had been crushed by the Ferris Wheel. Blood was pouring out of her ear, and he knew she wouldn’t be waking up. He knew and yet it wouldn’t process. There were people screaming behind him, running away in terror, and he could hear Ned’s voice telling Peter to move. But, he couldn’t leave MJ there. And, maybe, if an ambulance got to them, MJ would be okay. She just couldn’t be moved. That’s what they said on the TV shows.

 

Mysterio had won. Mysterio killed Michelle Jones.

 

“Peter,” Ned hissed. “Peter, you have to go. The police are arriving and you can’t be here when they do.”

 

“She’s-- she’s dead. Don’t you see her?” Irrationally, he was angry. “I never told her-- I never…”

 

Ned had been crying himself. “If I hold her for you, will you leave? I promise she’s in good hands.” His fingers were broken, Peter could see, but Ned still stole MJ from his arms. She was turning blue. And there was a pool of blood surrounding Peter’s knee. “ _ Go _ ,” Ned stressed. “You need to go.”

 

Peter stood up, his knees wobbling as he did. “Just make sure she’s okay,” he sobbed. “Just-- I need her to be c-comfortable.”

 

“She’s okay, Peter.” He gave a small and forced smile.

 

MJ wasn’t okay. Her last moments were ones of terror, and pain, and she died alone. She would never be okay again.

 

_ MJ, _

_ I’m really happy you’re my lab partner. You might not be the best at science, but today you were really helpful. We studied for the APUSH test--since history is what you are the best at--and I think I’m going to get an A because of you. You are such a lifesaver. _

_ I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m really stupid. I should just tell you how I feel. And, I’m gonna do it. And I mean it this time. The next time you wear that blue beanie with the two puff things on it, I’m asking you out. Please wear it soon. _

_ Love, Peter _

 

He almost told her the day before.

 

They were in Venice, and were attached to the hip the whole day. It had taken Peter everything he had inside of him to mutter the words, “You look really pretty.” And, she did. She looked beautiful, and it made his palms sweat.

 

Her response knocked the wind out of him. “You look pretty, too,” MJ had told him, smiling widely before taking his wrist and guiding them to their seats so they wouldn’t miss the performance.

 

The play was in Italian, and Peter only knew the language very choppily. May had taught him a few phrases, and some that would woo girls, but not enough for Peter to follow the plot of what they were watching. MJ seemed confused, too; they both gave up around the same point, and started whispering stupid jokes into each other’s ears.

 

The whole experience had inspired him. When they were back at the hostel, he’d brought MJ out to the balcony for a private conversation. 

 

“Venice is beautiful, don’t you think?” he asked.

 

“Gorgeous.” She leaned on the concrete fence that divided the balcony from the three-story fall. MJ looked over her shoulder at Peter with a grin. The wind gently blew her hair into her face, and he was enchanted by her in that moment. “I-- I don’t think I’ve ever been happier,” she admitted.

 

“Really? Why’s that?” Peter was now standing next to her. He rested his hand on the concrete and supported his weight with it.

 

MJ shrugged. She looked happy; she had a permanent smile that wasn’t going away and her skin glowed even in the dark. “I think this is my favorite place in the world. It just has this  _ feeling _ to it, you know? I feel like my life is finally starting and that it’s going to be great and, maybe nothing will compare to this moment right here, but this moment is pretty fantastic, so I’d be fine if nothing else compared, you know?”

 

His tongue was stuck in his throat. For some reason, he couldn’t answer her.

 

“I probably didn’t make any sense,” MJ sighed. “I mean that, New York has made me feel so trapped. Too many people, too many restrictions from my parents. And,  _ here _ , I feel free, and no matter what, I’ll always treasure this night.”

 

“ _ This _ night?” Peter asked, his throat still swollen.

 

She leaned her head on her hand and looked him longingly in the eyes. There was a silence, for a few moments, with the only active noise being the current of the water below them. The starry sky surrounded MJ’s head as she nodded and said, “Yes. This night.” It was almost too romantic.

 

This was Peter’s chance. He was mustering up the courage when she placed her hand on his forearm, smirking, and the two of them exchanged no words. They just stared at each other; his stomach caving in, his entire body sending him signals to run the other way, because this was real. MJ was flirting with him. And, despite that being exactly what Peter had been dreaming of, he couldn’t talk. The only thing he could do was let his eyes bug out of their sockets as MJ waited for a response.

 

“Are you excited for Prague?” she eventually asked. Her hand retreated from his arm. “I think it’s going to be fantastic.”

 

MJ was so excited.

 

In hindsight, it was heartbreaking.

 

_ MJ, _

_ I think you should live in Venice when you grow up. You’re so happy to be alive here that I think you were made for it. This whole day, you’ve been looking at everything with such fascination, and I think it’s made me love you more. If that is possible. _

_ I told you you looked pretty tonight. I can’t believe I actually said that, and as soon as I did I wanted to crawl into a whole and never resurface. But, then you said it back. And I’ve never been sure if I was okay with being called pretty but-- I am so, so, so okay with it now. I only want to be called pretty, and I only want to be called pretty by you. _

_ Tomorrow is the day, by the way. Tomorrow night when we are exploring Prague, I’m going to ask you out. This night has inspired me. I can’t wait to hear your answer, MJ. _

_ Love, Peter _

 

Peter was bleeding.

 

When had he started bleeding?

 

He was back in his hotel room in Prague before any of his other classmates were back. He pressed the button on his suit, making it loose around his body so he could slip out of it. And there it was; a giant stab wound in his abdomen.

 

Seriously, when did that happen?

 

Peter was shaky as he stumbled into the bathroom. He had his letter book-slash-diary in hand, as comfort or as torture, and he looked at himself in the mirror. He seemed pale, and sickly, and weak. The bags under his eyes were prominent and  _ when the fuck did someone stab him? _

 

How did he not realize that? Well, he knew how. MJ was more important than a little gash, and when he saw the ferris wheel come crumbling down, nothing else but her mattered.

 

Peter saw the look on her face as the rubble came crashing down towards her. He had released his webbing to yank her out of the way, but the path had been disrupted by a block of steel. The webs latched onto that instead, and not MJ. She would’ve still been alive if he hadn’t acted so stupid.

 

He was sobbing into the bathroom sink, abandoning his search for medical products. 

 

All MJ wanted was to  _ live _ . Her future was bright and hopeful and she already had colleges going after her. She wanted to be a journalist, one that would produce stories that got people talking. MJ was supposed to be influential. MJ was supposed to be successful, and happy, and she was supposed to die at eighty-three.

 

She died at seventeen. She never went to college, she never got to read her name on the byline, and she never got to hear what Peter had been keeping away from her for more than a year. MJ deserved more than to be  _ dead _ .

 

He fell to the floor. There were so many moments they should’ve shared. There were so many things MJ was destined to do. Peter would never forgive himself, for any of it.

 

“Oh my God,” a voice said from the doorway. His hearing was so distorted, he couldn’t tell who it was. The person kneeled down in front of him, delicately placing their hands across his wound. “Peter--”

 

He took a deep breath before struggling to open his eyes.

 

This had to be some kind of trick.

 

Because there was no way. There was just no way.

 

“MJ?” His eyebrows creased. “Are-- are you real?”

 

“Of course I am,” she said, her eyes sad. She ran her thumb across Peter’s cheek. “Ned told me-- he said-- My body just disappeared as soon as you left.”

 

He still couldn’t control his crying. His chest rose and fell hastily as he tried inhaling and exhaling. MJ held his head between her hands and started whispering, “I’m okay, Peter. I’m fine. There’s nothing you need to be worried about. I’m okay.”

 

Peter nodded along with her words and felt himself calming down. She wasn’t dead.  _ She wasn’t dead _ . 

 

He had dropped the letters to her an arms width away from him. With his foot, Peter dragged it close to him, peeled it off the floor, and slid it into her lap. “You. Need to. Read these. Fifth page is-- is your start.” He said these words through gasps of air.

 

MJ let go of his face. She opened up to the fifth page, and started reading.

**Author's Note:**

> this was a suggested prompt :) thank you so much for reading <3 yell at me on twitter: @parkerbjones


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